


Bending Your Luck

by mccloudydayz



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: (I try to make you like that at least), And I probably won't expand into chapter two, And that's making unholy hellspawn demons, Canon Divergence, Gender-neutral Reader, I've pretty much only played chapter one, Ink machine does what ink machines do, Suspense, Working up to a big reveal at the end, cuz I'm lazy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-23 04:30:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10712211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mccloudydayz/pseuds/mccloudydayz
Summary: No matter how loud the music had become, you couldn't sate the almost gut feeling that something about this whole situation seemed wrong. Very wrong.Why else would the man try to persuade you to visit the very place where he had a near mental breakdown, firing all of his coworkers in one fell swoop, and right after he had gotten that giant, infernal machine to work...?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *insert glorious fanfare here*  
> First work on Archive! Yippee! But in all seriousness, I plan to make as much of this make enough sense and be grammatically correct enough for anyone to actually read this. After all, this is being transcribed from my own written hand. (big step forward, huh?) So, without further ado, sit back, grab an ink pen to ward off yer demons, and let the horror ensue!

~Dear (y/n),

It seems like a lifetime since we worked on cartoons together. 30 years really slips away, doesn't it?

If you're back in town, come visit the old workshop. There's something I need to show you.

Your best pal,

Joey Drew~

When you had first received the letter, looking old, faded and yellowed with age as if it had been scrawled on the page of some ancient book, a sense of genuine confusion took over. The messily written words were correct: it had been quite some time since the man had any contact with you back when you worked under him. Why was he just now sending you a letter? Not only that, but why not just send something more efficient, like a voicemail or an e-mail, instead of something as tedious as a written letter? And not only that, you weren't anywhere near the old studio you used to work for, having moved away to start a fresh, new career after...the incident. How did your old boss even know where you lived?

After the confusion came worry, the feeling passing unbidden down your spine. Worry that this wasn't even Joey at all, and that you were the victim of a stalker, possibly even a potential murderer. Worry about the vague request to come to your old place of work seemingly out of the blue. Worry about Joey possibly being in danger himself, having waited this long to contact one of his old employees out of anyone else in his life.

Finally came the curiosity. What was so important that Joey would try to contact you after thirty long years, just to take a trip down memory lane? Why was there a blatant sense of urgency implied in the letter, given that he _needed_ you to see something, instead of _wanted_ you to see something? Was this in any way tied to whatever drove him to just fire you out of nowhere, along with the rest of his employees, on that day thirty years ago?

Out of all of these feelings, it was indeed the curiosity that sent you on a two-hour long car drive out of your current residence and back to the city you previously resided in. Sure, all of your doubts were filling your mind to the point where they were practically squirting out of your ears, but there you were, calling off your day at work to go see your old boss who may or may not be in danger, completely crazy, or both.

Along with your doubt came a familiar sense of uneasiness, causing you to turn up the volume of your car radio as a distraction. But no matter how loud the music had become, you couldn't sate the almost gut feeling that something about this whole situation seemed wrong. Very wrong.

Why else would the man try to persuade you to visit the very place where he had a near mental breakdown, firing all of his coworkers in one fell swoop, and right after he had gotten that giant, infernal machine to work...?

Finally pulling into the nearly empty lot in front of the older-looking building, you parked your car while staring into the face of the faded company logo. It had one of the mascot's faces on it: a popular character the company had branded (or about as popular as it could have been, back in its heyday), along with a swirling, happy font spelling out, Sillyvision Studios.

Seeing the old company logo made your heart swell with momentary nostalgia, bringing you back to the days when you were fresh out of college, looking for a place where your childish, artistic and optimistic self could call a second home. Given the amount of time you had dedicated to sketching, animating and perfecting your skill, while being provided with the knowledge that you could make people laugh and smile with the results, it practically was. Now, as you stared at the faded swirls of the logo lettering, the boarded up windows and the dark, cloudy sky rolling overhead, the building now posed a melancholy, depressing air of what used to be, and what might never be again. Your heart immediately sank as your mind flooded with the thought.

Despite the mood that hung in the moisture-filled air, you trudged toward the front entrance, hoping that it wasn't blocked off like any other opening you could see. Just in front of the door was a navy-colored car, seeming to be hastily parked, and even running slightly on top of the curb. You recognized it immediately as Joey's car, given the admittance tag dangling from the rear-view mirror and the mascot from the logo as a bumper sticker. The sight of the haphazardly-parked vehicle unnerved you even more. Was Joey in a rush to get here?

You stepped up to the front doors, old and sturdy with rust peeling off of the metal. You didn't even have to try the handle to see if it was locked; the doors loudly creaked open with a single push. The limited light source outside did nothing to illuminate the area inside, but you kept the doors open anyway, the sudden creepy feeling emanating from the impending dark warning you to take precautions. The wooden floorboards beneath your feet groaned under your weight, and you winced with nearly step you took.

Squinting, you managed to force your eyes to slowly adjust to the dim lighting. You were drawn to the rectangular, monochrome posters on the walls, depicting every episode from the cartoon that Joey was most invested in. The old-timey style designs for the show were part of his vision, what he had wanted to bring back from "the good old days" when he was a child. When you had first gotten hired to work here, working on that particular show had been a perfect start for your fledgling animation career to take off. The style was easy enough for a beginner like you to animate, the atmosphere for each storyboard was quirky and fun-loving, and you would be lying if you said that you didn't love every second of your job.

A loud 'CLICK' and a bright flash of light startled you out of your thoughts, making you squeak and jump nearly a foot in the air. Turning to the source at the end of the hallway in the main lobby, you could see a large square of light on the wall at the far end, coming from an old-style projector resting on a table just in front of it. No picture accompanied the light, but from somewhere, a soft, bouncy piano melody played on, mimicking the theme song from Joey's cartoon. With this new source of light, you could see just how much of the inside of the studio had been worn and wasted away like the outside: loose boards, peeling paint, knocked over desks and chairs, dust particles.

"...Joey...?" you made your voice known, albeit shakily, as you took in the sight of your beloved old work space that had practically gone into ruin. What on earth had he been up to all this time? "Joey, are you there?"

When no response came, you ventured further into the room, taking care not to catch your foot on a discarded chair or table leg. You knew that Joey was here somewhere, and luckily for you, you still had an idea of where almost every room was in this place.

You veered off on a path branching to the right, only coming to a stop at the smaller room it opened up to when you had caught something that shouldn't have been on one of the walls. Three words had been drawn with now dried, black ink on the contrasting pale beige paint, the simple phrase seeming to drip with eeriness:

DREAMS COME TRUE


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, call me spazzy, but as soon as I saw that there were double-digits in the views, several kudos, and a few brilliant souls that had bookmarked this, I simply HAD to take advantage. I mean, jeez, it's my first real submission, gimme a break! So, while staying ahead of my practically non-existent schedule, here ya'll go! :)

Eyes widening for only a moment, you managed to tear your eyes away from the cryptic writing, when the soft 'plink...plink...plink' of something dripping had you turning to the next branch to your left side. Peering down the corridor, you noticed that the ceiling and walls were constantly leaking the same runny ink that was used to write on the previous wall. Several puddles had accumulated on the ground, the ink drying the further out they reached.

Although the dripping was what caught your attention, it was being held by something completely different. At the end of the leaking corridor was an open doorway, the space above it sporting a much cleaner-looking label, in all caps:

INK MACHINE

You stood longer than you should in front of the opening, staring at the offending words until your vision started to blur. You couldn't help but feel a swell of anger rise in your chest. This machine caused so many good people to lose their jobs. It caused you to unexpectedly change your career path when no other studios would hire you. It caused a man with a vision to spend days on end in his office, unhealthily brooding over blueprints and sketches of his beloved characters until the point arrived when he finally just... _snapped_.

Acting on that boiling feeling, you stomped forward, charging through the open doorway as you entered the large room. The ink machine, what Joey had last told you was his pride and joy, stood in all its mechanical glory in the center of the room. Exposed gears and cogwheels lined the sides, a gigantic tank filled to the brim with pitch black ink was positioned on the back, and a large, downward-facing nozzle was sported at the front, dripping the blackened fluid as it congealed into a damp puddle directly below.

Anger slowly fading into curiosity, you stepped closer to the monstrosity. All those bells and whistles, and yet not a single 'ON' switch caught your eye. It didn't serve as a mystery to you, however; Joey had always been secretive of his latest invention. It would make sense that he would be the only one to know how to activate it.

After a minute of exploring, you eventually grew frustrated, stepping further back to take in the machine in its entirety. Maybe there was something you had missed...

You stopped in your movements when your back bumped into something that didn't quite feel like a wall. Turning around had you face to face with a life-sized, wooden standee of the mascot from the logo and Joey's bumper sticker: the one and only, Bendy the Dancing Demon.

Your initial surprise wore off in an instant, replaced with a small smile as you looked at the near-forgotten toon. Its old-style cartoony eyes, although two-dimentional, held a sense of playful mischievousness that mirrored the happy-go-lucky grin on its face. The small bowtie and oversized gloves it wore accompanied the stark white of its cheeks, while its little horns and arrow-tipped tail were as midnight-back as the rest of its body.

"Aww," you couldn't help but gush at the wooden stand, your smile growing almost as big as his. Even after thirty years, the little devil's cuteness factor never failed to tug at that soft spot inside of you. "Hey there, little buddy. Been a long time, huh?"

The life-sized toon offered no response, which you were thankful for. At least this, as minimal as it was to you, posed some sense of normality in this desolate place. You pat the wooden standee in between its horns affectionately before turning back to the ink machine, your irritation returning.

Throwing your hands up in exasperation, you turned on your heel and briskly walked out of the room. If an 'ON' switch wasn't on the machine itself or in the same room, then logic would dictate that it had to be in another. You didn't want to stay in this place anymore than you had to.  _Find the 'ON' switch, find Joey, get out. Find the 'ON' switch, find Joey, get out._ Your thoughts echoed like a mantra in your head.

Each hallway you passed as you made your way through the decrepit studio had your stomach turning. Not just because of the creaking floorboards, the dust in the air, or the eerie silence that answered back whenever you tried to call out Joey's name, mind you. It was because of the pipes jutting from the ceiling and upper portions of the walls, wrapping thickly around each and every corridor you passed through. Funnily enough, you hadn't taken notice of the eyesores until you had found the ink machine, unconsciously assuming before that they supplied power to the building. Now that you had taken notice of them, thick and transparent would it not have been for the flowing, tar-like substance inside - you had a pretty clear idea of what it was at this point - you deduced that all of this pipework had been exclusively set up to supply power to the mechanical behemoth.

You tried every door lining the long corridors, but each and every one of them seemed to be locked, boarded up, or just simply refused to budge. Turning another corner, however, had you finding your old work space, remarkably untouched by your old boss. When you had first gotten hired, Joey had explained that the newer employees had to work to achieve certain "benefits" in the workplace; that much you knew from the start. You had never even thought that he meant working for actual office space for you to have your privacy in, instead of a literal alcove you could squeeze into; lordy-loo, were you miffed when you found that out. You had all the essentials, mind you: a desk, a chair, a trashcan, a place for writing utensils, and even a complimentary standee of the little devil darlin' to keep you company. Even so, something as small as a damn  _cubicle_ would have satisfied you, and the cheapskate couldn't even give you that?

Be it nostalgia or simply a sense of closure, you still found yourself softly smiling as you had with the wooden stand earlier as your mind flashed back further to the happier times this place of imagination offered you. Nothing wrong with getting a simple sense of comfort from this dismal place, right?

But a loud 'CLANK' of wood on wood had you tearing away from the alcove, turning an observant ear as to where the noise came from. "Joey...? Is that you?" you called in the direction of the racket, hoping to elicit a response. When none came in the form of your old boss, any other person, or even a similar noise to what you just heard, you finally forced yourself to walk away from your desk. If that sound was matching the worries that suddenly flooded your mind, then you couldn't waste any more time trying to relive old memories. Joey's well-being had to come first.

Heading down the path the noise came from, you suddenly stopped yourself when you caught sight of an old-looking tape recorder resting on one of the old wooden shelves that rarely lined the halls. Picking it up off it's perch to examine, you managed to make out the letters W. F. scrawled in permanent marker. Recognizing the handwriting and the initials to be from Wally, one of your old coworkers in the animating department, you unconsciously found the 'PLAY' button, longing for a familiar voice to soothe the eeriness.

_"At this point, I don't get what Joey's plan is for this company."_ your colleague's voice emitted from the recorder after an initial burst of static interference, " _The animations sure aren't being finished on time anymore, and I certainly don't see why we need this...machine. It's noisy, it's messy, and who needs that much ink anyway?"_  All of these were questions that you had never dared to voice to your boss before. It didn't surprise you that the other animators thought the same.

_"Also, get this: Joey had each of us donate something from our workstations. We put them on these little pedestals in the break room, to 'help appease the gods,' Joey says, 'keep things going.' I think he's lost his mind...but hey, he writes the checks. But I tell you what: if one more of these pipes bursts, I'm outta here!"_

At the end of the recording, you couldn't help but let out a dismal sigh. The threat that Wally had left with would prove to be true. Before Joey had acted out against his employees as a whole, when he had first had begun setting up construction of the ink machine, many of your coworkers had taken notice of his sudden erratic behavior associating with the contraption. He never stated the actual purpose of what the machine was supposed to provide, simply resorting to vague answers like, "This is what the company needs", or "This machine will make everything easier", or even going so far as to state how it would "change the course of animation forever". You, being the beginner you were, knew better than to question your boss's antics, choosing to optimistically believe in every promise he made about the issue. Your colleagues, however, you would often catch whispering to each other about the machine, theorizing about its purpose, and exchanging looks every time Joey would be seen rushing to his office, blueprints and cartoon sketches overflowing in his arms. It had gotten to the point about two months before the incident where other animators would become more than skeptical about the rather unsafe work conditions and the amount of time wasted on projects other than the required animations, causing them to consider finding other jobs. Wally had been the first to go, and it had only escalated from there, other coworkers confronting Joey themselves and leaving immediately afterwards. You had chosen to stick it out, foolishly believing how all of these peculiarities from your boss would pay off into something new and innovative that you could call yourself a part of...

Shaking off the unhappy memories, you turned your focus back to the tape recorder, remembering what Wally had said about the employees sacrificing something from their work stations for Joey to appease some otherworldly being of sorts. That had also been true: after the first set of animators left the company, the remaining six - you included - were required to relinquish something of value that had been in each office space. Every time Joey would be seen taking each item to the break room (which he had closed off to all employees, oddly enough; that was one thing you and the others had a reason to be irked about), you could always hear a whirring sort of noise from the machine in the other room, as well as the sluggish sound of ink flowing through the pipes. Were they actually able to make the machine turn on?

Following your hunch, you made your way over to the next hallway, where the path branched into two. Before you could venture further, you had to take care in stepping over a loose board that had fallen from the ceiling. It was recent, given the amount of dust in that particular area, making you stop and sneeze twice, and louder than you had wanted, too. Was this the noise you had heard? If it was, then you definitely had a reason to get any business needed over and done with as soon as possible. This old place may have survived over thirty years in disrepair, but who's to say that the tipping point won't be sometime soon...? You didn't want to think about that.

You took the rightmost path at the end of the hall, leading you directly to the break room. The moment you pushed the door open, you had to let out a small gasp at the unfamiliarity of it all. Wally had been right: six pedestals had been set evenly across the room from each other, with a grainy photograph of each of their respective items hanging just above them on the walls. At the far end of the room was a large lever contraption, with big, bold letters spelling out, 'MAIN POWER: CAUTION' right above it. A small monitor was placed to its left, blinking back the words, 'LOW PRESSURE' on the screen.

Your bewildered expression hadn't faltered an inch. "Joey, what in the world...?" you whispered in awe. Immediately you made your way to the far end of the room before you reached out to pull the lever down from its perch. When it wouldn't budge, you went back to your most recent deduction, that those items actually _were_ worth something after all. You turned to face the pedestals once more, noting the spotlights alighting them all and signifying their importance. Taking the time to study each of the items needed, you wasted no time in marching out of the break room door.

You let out a gasp, much sharper than the one before.

Standing not five inches from your nose was another Bendy standee, making you startle at the sudden proximity.

"H-how did you...?" you sputtered, staring wide-eyed at the grinning effigy that certainly wasn't there when you had come in.

After a moment to compose yourself, your stare hardened on the toon's old-timey, pie-shaped eyes as you put your hands on your hips irritably. Now you knew for a fact that Joey was here; he had put this thing here just to mess with you!

"Very funny, Joey!" you called out into the dark hallways, your voice leaving a slight echo in its wake. Walking around the large cutout, you turned your attention to the leftmost branch to the path. "Trying to scare me? And you don't even show yourself afterwards? I swear, you're going to give me an ulcer one of these days! I mean, holy..."

You stopped mid-rant as your eyes rested on what lay in the room that the branch led to.

"...m-moley..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooh, spooky cliffhanger...although if you've played the game already, it's pretty darn obvious where I'm heading. Haha! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand, we're back! Basically, I'm going to try and hash out the rest of this pretty soon, since it's pretty much done and in my notebook, ready to copy down. And unfortunately, this entire work is only going to be a few chapters in length, though it may end up with an impressive word count at the end (as short as this chapter might be from my perspective). I tend to ramble, don't'cha know? Anyways, enjoy chapter three; things are starting to heat up~! :)

One after the other, your feet seemed to mechanically move themselves closer to the room, though your mind was screaming in mutiny. You hadn't even taken notice that your mouth had fallen agape. The room you entered wasn't large, only able to hold a few desks and chairs, save for the particularly large table smack dab in the middle of it. It faced you longways, seeming to be held up by one of those large pipes, while sporting something equally as large resting on top of it. What it was, you couldn't make out, given the giant beige sheet lying over it to cover every inch. You stopped right in front of the table, in between two small posts alight with candles on top of them, dripping with ivory wax.

You wrenched your eyes away from the ominous sight to take in the rest of your surroundings, only to have your breath hitch as you turned to catch something equally as disturbing. Another message had been written to your right over top of a cluster of sketch papers that covered the wall. This ink message also looked fairly dry, former drips of the substance stilled in their downwards motion as they covered the cartoony drawings.

WHO'S LAUGHING NOW?

You shuddered, not quite finding your voice to vocalize your thoughts. Honestly, you preferred it like that; you were sure anything would have come out on nothing but a pathetic sounding whimper or something similar. Tearing your eyes away from the message, you chose to focus on the table once more, with the large thing that was thankfully sill in its place under the tarp. You gingerly moved to the side of it, finally taking in the details of the different lumps and bumps this thing had - details that, to your horror, made it seem remarkably close to a body.

...Do you even dare...?

Your arms seemed to move on their own, reaching for one end of the tarp as curiosity once again triumphed over fear. Better to see who - or what - it was, hopefully to silence the warning alarms blaring your head, screaming that it was Joey under there, and that you had been too late.

But you knew that couldn't be right...the proportions on the body were far too large to be the Joey Drew that you remembered. Taking a deep breath, you banished all second thoughts and ripped the tarp away, seconds later slapping a hand loudly over your mouth to stifle any unwanted noise.

It wasn't Joey. It wasn't even human.

Lying before you was something akin to a giant, bipedal dog of sorts. The fur on its body was midnight black, from its thin, floppy ears to the enormous paws on its hind legs, save for what it was wearing: a set of brightly-colored...overalls? Each of its limbs were restrained by large metal clamps, confining it to the table. Its face and muzzle were a contrasting snowy white, sporting literal X's where the eyes should have gone, and an agape mouth seeming to hold an even greater darkness within. It looked to be dead, you deduced from the absent movement from the limbs and the tarp previously covering its form, but mostly from the fact that its chest cavity was completely cut open and exposed, rib cage broken and spread outwards, along with a severe lack of any organs to occupy the space.

You startled, backing a good few paces away from the deceased animal's corpse while fighting the urge to retch. You couldn't help the onslaught of hot, salty tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as they remained glued to the body.

Was this Joey's doing? Worse yet, was  _this_ what he wanted you to see? You couldn't bear the thought of it being true.

After getting over your initial shock, there grew a twisting, sorrowful feeling in the pit of your stomach. Why would somebody be so cruel...?

You gently reached out a hand to its arm to stroke the poor creature's ebony fur, only to immediately recoil when you felt that it was wet. Soaked, even. You stared, bug-eyed at your shaking palm that had come away stained with a strange black liquid, rolling off of your fingers in fat drops. The scent of it overpowered you suddenly, and your eyes widened even further as you recognized the substance instantly, having become accustomed to it when you had been in the room with the giant machine. You suddenly grew a hunch as to why the table was being held up by one of the pipes, as well.

You didn't believe your assumption at first, so you placed your hand on the dog's arm once again, ignoring the ' _squelch_ ' sound it made once it connected. You ran your thumb over the surface and leaned down to closely examine a detail so small that you had missed it before: you knew what dogs' fur coats were supposed to look like, and out of every one you had seen they certainly didn't... _ripple_ like that. You blinked in disbelief.

It was ink. This dog was made of  _ink._

How was this even possible? Constructing what looked to be a once-living being out of nothing but ink? How could anyone - especially Joey - accomplish something as...as  _ridiculous_ as that?! This was nowhere near what you presumed the man had been up to all these years. If you weren't seeing - well, _gawking_ - at it with your own eyes, you would have claimed yourself to be as batty as your boss had acted back then!

...Suddenly, everything seemed to click into place, turning the gears in your head like an old pocket watch. The overly large supply of ink. The mysterious purpose for the machine. Real proof of a giant creature completely comprised of ink itself. Joey's sudden obsession of the machine blueprints and his cartoon sketches  _together._

Had he really...?

Your eyes flickered to the wall behind the table, catching a copy of one of the episode posters. This one depicted a completed sketch of a character that looked almost identical to they body strewn before you, smiling goofily and holding a clarinet in its paw. The title read, "Bendy in: Sheep Songs, featuring Boris the Wolf".

You were dumbfounded. The body you'd found was none other than a once living creation of Boris the Wolf.

Joey had managed to bring his cartoon to  _life._

Rational thoughts were escaping you as you tried to make sense of your outrageous conclusion. No. No, there was...there was just no way! Things like this simply weren't capable of being accomplished in real life! It was unnatural. It was ludicrous. It...it was the ink. Yeah, that was it, the fumes from the puddles were just messing with your head. You were just going crazy.

However, as much as you argued with yourself, you still couldn't deny every bit of proof that was handed to you, making your chest lurch with uneasiness. You were fully awake, you were fully coherent. Hell, you had even  _touched_  the body to confirm your suspicions. As much as your logic and reasoning wanted to deny it, what you were seeing was true; the evidence was right in front of you.

Once you finally accepted that this was indeed the reality you were now a part of, a stream of coherent questions started to arise: if Joey had brought one of his cartoons to life, how had it died? No, wait, that much was obvious: somebody, by the looks of the restraints, the almost surgical way the creature's chest was cut open and the open space in the room left empty of any other use, had performed some sort of...experiment on it, resulting in its inevitable death. A better question to ask was  _why_. More importantly, was this indeed the work of your old boss? Did you even want to know...?

For the first time since you arrived, a sense of genuine fear gripped at your heart like a vice. Maybe the sense of urgency implied in the letter wasn't because of the fact that Joey was in danger, but because that he  _was_ the danger...

No.  _No_ _!_  You refused to believe that. In all the years that you'd worked for him, Joey had been a man you could trust. Obviously, that trust you'd put in him had definitely been too much, given what you had seen thus far, but...resorting to life-threatening experiments?  _Murder?_  Joey would never act in such a way. Before he had even begun construction of the ink machine, the man  _adored_ the characters he created. If you hadn't have known better, you would have considered them as his metaphorical children. Now that he had successfully brought one of them to life, of all things, what reason would he have to strap it down, rip open its chest and take it away? It didn't add up.

You finally decided that you had seen enough. Without another thought to grace your mind, you turned tail and walked briskly away from the grim scene. You had to remain focused. Finding a way to power the ink machine, and finding its elusive owner were your main priorities. You just hoped that Joey would be at the end of it all, sporting a large grin with the words, "Ha, gotcha!" on his lips.

Oh, lord, did you hope. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Yes I know Boris didn't have a sheet over him in the game, I just wanted a little reveal for our dear reader. And when I said 'ramble,' of course I meant 'pay extraordinary attention to detail'. Haha!)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, now we've gotten to the climax of the gameplay. All that's left is the grand finale! Aaaand maybe an epilogue of sorts at the very end; I'm still undecided on whether or not I should post it for convenience's sake. Meh, I'll figure it out later. All that matters is that this is the start of where the canon divergences come into play, so be alert for an incoming of a crud-ton of inaccuracy (please be nice, I'm trying!). Enjoy, everybody! :)

After a considerable amount of time spent travelling from room to room in the dismal studio, you somehow managed to scour every nook and cranny until you found all of the six items needed for the pedestals. Of those, you had discovered them as being: a wrench, a Bendy plush toy, a book written by Joey himself titled, The Illusion of Living, an inkwell (with an unsettling skull and crossbones on the label), a large cogwheel separate from the ink machine itself, and finally, an old vinyl record from the cartoon's music department.

Feet aching, you sluggishly made your way to the path leading to the break room, all of your newfound items balancing in your arms. When you had gotten to the right branching path, you froze and almost dropped the leaning tower of knickknacks. The Bendy standee was nowhere to be found.

"Joey?" you called out once more, this time with an exasperated edge to your tone. "C'mon, you sonuvagun, this is getting ridiculous..."

Not even bothering to wait for a response, you nudged the door open with your foot and stepped inside. You made your way to each pedestal, placing each item on top under their assigned pictures. Not to your surprise, you found a tiny, almost imperceptible button in the middle of each one; that must have been the reason the machine would activate when the items were placed on top ("appease the gods" your foot...).

When the last object had been placed, just like before, a whirring noise sounded from within the old wooden walls, signifying that you had made progress. Letting out a relieved sigh that your scavenger hunt was over, you practically skipped over to the power switch. But as soon as your eyes glossed over the monitor still flashing the same 'LOW PRESSURE' warning as before, you skidded to an abrupt stop.

Heaving another sigh, this time out of frustration, you glared at the offending message. You had gotten all of the stupid items here and accounted for, and after a long and drawn out process of backtracking that could have passed for a side quest in an RPG video game, too; shouldn't have that been enough? You didn't even know where to _start_ looking for something to restore the ink pressure in that infernal contraption! Maybe if you kicked one of those pipes hard enough, it could force some ink to flow...

You decided not to brood on your misfortune for long, choosing to stomp your way irritably out of the break room once more. You thanked the stars that Joey had refrained from scaring you with a standee again. If he had, you were sure you would have snapped the thing right in half, Bendy's cuteness be damned.

By some miracle, you managed to stumble upon a branching corridor you had yet to explore. By your limited knowledge, this should have led to the screening room, where finished episodes for the cartoons would be previewed to the employees before being released to the public. It was the only place you hadn't checked in this building; if an ink pressure mechanism wasn't somewhere in there, you didn't know where else you could even try to look.

Feeling that much closer to figuring out this mess and finding your jokester of a boss, your strides down the hallway seemed long and purposeful. They reflected the set in your jaw and the look in your eyes, filled to the brim with determination.

That is, until another Bendy cutout literally peeked its head from around the corner to stare at you, causing you to let in another sharp intake of breath and screech to a halt.

As soon as it had come, the standee disappeared behind the corner, leaving you shaking in your boots where you stood halfway down the corridor. Then, all at once, you gained your composure, eyes narrowing to a seething glare, and stormed the rest of the way down. You had been getting thoroughly freaked out since the moment you had stepped inside this nuthouse, and frankly, you'd had enough.

"Joey, I'm not kidding, you'd better cut this out!" you yelled, emphasizing your point with every stomp of your feet. "Will you just stop with the act and show yourself already? Joke's over! Just what in the world is so damn important that you'd drag me all the way out here, only to make me believe I'm in some kind of haunted house?! I swear, I've just about had it - !"

You stilled in your rage when you had finally turned the corner that led to the doorway of the screening room. To your displeasure, there was no Joey in sight, only the large cutout of the cartoon devil you had seen two seconds ago, propped against the wall. You gave it's cheeky little face a small glare before marching in through the doorway. "Joey, I - !"

Another interruption came not seconds later in the form of the screening projector loudly clicking to life from the back of the room, causing you to jolt. The projector bathed the area in a dim, yellow light, this time accompanied by a picture showing inside of the large square of light on the wall. It wasn't a full episode adaptation of the cartoons you were used to viewing, instead sporting a small animation loop of a smiling Bendy performing a little dance, over and over.

Were it not for your low pain threshold, you would have had your hands latching onto your hair, ready in an instant to tear the locks right out. If you were a cartoon yourself, you would have more than likely had depictions of steam coming out of your ears. " _Joseph Drew!!"_ you hissed, making your way to the space behind the projector. Again, however, no crouching form of your old boss greeted you, only a small pile of used and unused film reels.

You huffed. This man was going to be the death of you, you were sure.

Also in the empty space, you looked to find a large, obvious button on the wall, labeled 'FLOW'. Above it, you noted another bold-lettered label: 'INK PRESSURE'.  _Bingo!_

Without a second thought, you smacked your hand on the button, hearing a resounding clank and shuffle come from behind it in the walls. Your shoulders relaxed, and you felt your annoyed beginnings of a headache start to leave you. "Thank God..." you muttered.

Not wasting any more time, you turned on your heel and marched out of the screening room. You didn't even bother to waste your time in searching for more Bendy standees to scare you again. If Joey was going to screw with you anymore, then he'd have to try a lot harder than resorting to simple jump-scares and eerie lighting.

Finding yourself in the break room - hopefully for the last time - had you nearly grinning with relief. You grasped the lever on the wall, noting the monitor now flashing the word 'READY', and pushed it down, the handle finally giving way and snapping into place.

In an instant, the spotlights above the pedestals switched off, coating the space in a sudden darkness that had you secretly wishing for the dim projector light once more. The only thing you could clearly make out was the new message on the monitor: 'RUNNING'. You unconsciously tensed, slowing your pace to walk out the break room door for the final time. Thankfully, there was no smiling standee to greet you. Even better, the still form of Boris in the next room over stayed exactly where you found him. You tread much more carefully down the newly darkened hallways, hearing the soft gurgling of ink rushing through the pipes above your head.

...Why did it suddenly feel like you were being watched...?

You whipped your head behind you just before your turned the corner leading to the ink machine. No wooden stands, no Boris, and no Joey were there in the dark space, only several drips of ink coming off of the pipes in greater numbers than before. You mentally slapped yourself. What reason had you to be nervous? It was obviously Joey pulling the strings for every scare tactic you were met with so far. You were just being paranoid.

At last, you turned the corner to come and face the ink machine doorway...the doorway you swore up and down was open not an hour ago. Now it had been crudely boarded up, blocking the way in.

"Oh, what now?" you grumped, stomping your way up to the blockage. You found a small opening in between two of the boards, allowing you to narrow your eyes and peek inside.

The ink machine was running, you could tell by the repeated clanks, pops and shuffles emitting from it. The large nozzle had more frequent drips of ink, not quite a steady stream, drizzling down and congealing into a fairly large puddle directly under it.

But wait, what was that...?

The puddle of ink seemed to be... _rippling_ somehow, as if there were a faint breeze blowing just over it. The air, however, was as stiff and as still as a board, as if it was holding its breath in anticipation. But for what...?

Letting out a huff and shaking off the eeriness, you gripped your hands on one of the boards and planted your feet firmly on the ground. You were sure you wouldn't achieve it in one try, but a few quick tugs to the old wood would surely clear a path enough for you to -

'CRASH'

Letting out a small shriek at the noise, you whipped your head around at lightning speed to face the source. One of the pipes down the hallway had ruptured, splintering the glass and erupting a large stream of black fluid that sprayed on the walls and pooled on the floor. This, plus all of those clanks and clatters you had heard earlier, must have been because of the amount of time the machine spend out of commission. With everything else practically falling apart in the studio after thirty years of gathering dust, you should have guessed it from the start. You actually did slap a hand to your forehead this time. How could you have been so careless?!

The midnight-black liquid spread wider in its pool on the floor, heading in all directions. You backed up a few paces to avoid letting the substance soil your clothes, only to come to a dead end, bumping into the boarded opening behind you. Turning around, your grip on the boards returned even firmer than before, ready to pry away the blockage by pure adrenaline alone, only for you to stop in your tracks, your breath lodging in your throat.

The ink puddle under the machine was gone, leaving no residue behind. It was as if it had never been there in the first place.

Your heart picked up the pace in your chest at the realization that you couldn't even blame Joey for this. "That's...not normal..." you choked, eyes widening to the size of dinner plates.

Not even a millisecond passed before the puddle made a sudden reappearance right in front of the doorway, and you let out yet another gasp at the sight. You followed the puddle's every movement as it remarkably stretched itself upwards, coming to a stop right in front of your widened eyes.

You finally screamed when you realized that it had a face.

The ink mass had a  _face._ What you could see under the dripping curtain of ink was what looked like a giant, toothy grin, stark white in comparison to black as night. Creepier yet, the mass had stretched part of itself further upwards in two places, nearly mimicking the presence of horns. Those two aspects that this thing was something that had come out of the ink machine the exact same way Boris must have, had your head spinning and your stomach doing cartwheels.

You only wished that you were wrong about what you thought this was, just like how you wished that it hadn't just stretched another part of itself outwards into something that looked awfully like an arm as it reached between the boards  _right at you..._

Abandoning all thought, your fight or flight mode finally decided to kick in, having you choosing the latter in a heartbeat. Breath heaving out of your lungs, you turned and booked it in the direction of the main lobby, ink splashing loudly from under your feet. The further you sprinted down the winding corridors, you could see more and more pipes bursting, nearly missing your body with shards of broken glass. Torrents of thick, black ink offered no mercy, the sheer amount rising already up to your shins, and the viscosity creating a resistance akin to mud. The sludge coated your hair, splattered on your clothes and attacked your skin; you fought to wipe as much as you could out of your eyes, ink mixing with the saltiness of your adrenaline-induced perspiration.

You speedily - well, as speedily as you could - sloshed your way through twist after turn of each hallway, hoping in vain that each branch you stumbled upon would lead to the main room. But lo, as if it were presented by God Himself, the red, blaring light from the exit sign cut through the blackened haze of ink and terror. You stumbled and slipped, almost drunkenly, through the sea of never-ending black towards your salvation. You were going to make it!

Your mind briefly flashed to Joey, yet you didn't halt in your panicked rush to freedom and safety. You prayed that he was alright, wherever he was.

Close...closer...yet closer.

And then...

Falling.

The floorboards gave way from under you as a shriek of terror tumbled from your lips. Your stomach flew to your throat as your arms scrambled for purchase, trying to grab anything and everything that could stop your impending doom. But as soon as it had been taken away, your feet - along with the rest of your body - found purchase once again.

You tumbled to the ground in a pathetic heap, the force of your landing not being enough to kill you, but certainly being enough to leave a sharp, stinging pain in your leg. Drizzles of ink poured down on you from above as you managed a raspy groan of pain. Your head was pounding, your limbs ached from the run, your lungs burned, and your leg was screaming in agony. Slowly but surely, you pried open your eyes.

Where even  _were_ you...?


	5. Chapter 5

Shakily, you got to your hands and knees, placing a palm over your ink-stained chest to try and catch your breath. Were you in a basement? Not quite ready to brave your inevitable migraine were you to move your head, you warily glanced at the new scenery with your bloodshot eyes. As they landed on one of the far walls, your lungs painfully kicked back into overdrive. Yet another message had been inked on the wall, and by the looks of it, you knew instantly that Joey couldn't have written this one at all:

THE CREATOR LIED TO US

You whimpered, that sense of genuine fear from before latching onto your chest once again. You had been right: Joey himself hadn't've been the danger at all. His  _creations_  were.

Sharply hissing on the next intake of breath, you forced your thundering head to lift as you looked upwards to where you had fallen. You noticed how the opening was oddly square-shaped, making it look remarkably close to a trap door. You'd think you would have noticed something like that when Joey had first hired you...but then again, just how many things had you seen thus far from this little visit alone that had completely shocked you? Maybe five, and it hadn't even been two hours yet? You never even realized that this studio _had_ a basement floor, for Pete's sake!

Groaning once more, you tried to transfer your weight onto your lower body for you to stand, only to have a white-hot jolt of pain shoot up your leg, making you cry out. You stumbled back to the floor, bringing your leg in front of you to examine, only to find your ankle facing a way that was certainly not normal.

You cursed under your breath. Out of all of the things to inconvenience you today, a sprained ankle was definitely not one that you were going to welcome. You grit your teeth, once more making an attempt to stand, while putting most of your weight on your good leg. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes at the feeling of a dozen knives stabbing just above your foot, but you were standing. It hurt like hell, but you were still standing.

To your displeasure, the room didn't have a single exit to take you straight back up to the main floor, only a solitary doorway to the next room that had also been crudely boarded shut. Fortunately, it also had an ax holder on one of the walls opposite, with the required tool resting neatly on the hooks. You lunged for the weapon, the beginnings of a smile crawling its way across your black-smeared face. Your expression only briefly turned sour as you paused to grumble about where something this helpful had  _been_ all this time.

You managed to limp over to the blocked doorway, breath hitching with nearly every step you took. Making sure your grip on the ax was firm, you raised it over your head and violently slammed it back down on one of the boards. To your surprise, it split right in two on your first swing, even with your stance being as atrocious as it was with your bad leg. Just how long had all of this been down here?

You hacked and chopped your way through the opening piece by piece, seeming to take out all of your fear and rage with every board you knocked away. You had a decent pathway cleared sooner than you thought, and you wasted no time in stepping over the wreckage into the small corridor it let to, kicking aside more debris along the way. When you turned the corner, you were met by a closed door, sporting two small, lit candles on either side of it.

Remembering how several sets of candles were positioned in the room that Boris had been in, you paused longer than you should have at the end of the hall. You suddenly had a very bad feeling about what was on the other side of that door.

You steeled yourself, tightening the hold you had on your new best friend. Whatever was going to be there to greet you, you would be ready for it. Besides, any exit was an exit in your book. What other choices did you have?

Swallowing your fear momentarily, you placed your hand on the knob and turned it; it was surprisingly unlocked. The door slowly opened with a loud creak, and you stepped inside, only for you to freeze where you stood, the ax slipping from your lax fingers and hitting the floor with a loud clatter. You swore that your heart rate seemed to double.

In actuality, you shouldn't have been very surprised at what lay before you, but there you were: breath escaping you and your eyes bugging in their sockets as you tried to believe what you were seeing. Forget the ink machine,  _this_ was what Joey had been doing all this time?

The first thing you noticed, lying smack dab in the middle of the wood floor, was a pentagram. A _pentagram_ of all things, complete with more of the dripping, ivory candles positioned at each of the five points within the circle. Those candles, plus several others, only served to illuminate one side of the medium-sized room, the other being bathed in blanketing shadows. Also on the lit side, there were three large, actual coffins on display, two standing upright and one lying on its side. Of all the things you wanted to know about what was happening, whether or not those coffins were occupied was  _not_ one of them.

Stepping further into the room, shoulders hunched forward and your ax laying all but forgotten in the middle of the doorway, you forced yourself to pause just before you would have stepped inside of the ominous drawing. You audibly gulped, somehow willing your voice to make itself known. "...J-Joey...?"

But in the last second, your wavering voice broke, ringing out louder than you had meant it to, and you clasped a hand over your mouth only when it was too late. You held your breath in the stillness that followed, before you actually received an answer in return.

A high-pitched, bouncy,  _familiar_ tune echoed within the walls, and your heart stilled when you realized it was someone whistling. Someone whistling Bendy's theme song.

Before you could even think of moving, you heard the door behind you loudly slam shut, pushing your ax - your only means of safety - out into the hallway. Horror-stricken, you scrambled back to the entryway, the pain in your ankle all but forgotten as you furiously jiggled the door handle. Locked. Breath heaving in heavy gasps, you raised your fists and pounded on the wood as if your life depended on it. With your luck, it actually would.

"No, no, no, no, no, _no_!" you screamed, blood and adrenaline pumping through your body at an alarming rate. Despite your previous anger towards your old boss, you couldn't help the desperate edge to your voice. "Joey, this isn't funny anymore! Please, just let me go! Please!!"

Your next answer came from a small ' _fwoosh_ ' from the unlit side of the room, an accompanying light source somehow coming to life on its own. You jumped, instantly tensing afterwards as your mind flooded with thoughts on what could be just behind your back. Ever so slowly, your turned back around to face the new scenery, as if everything you had seen had been a part of a horror film, and the killer was only just being revealed to you.

Sitting down on a wooden chair, accompanied by four candles placed at each corner, was the slumped over, wrinkled face of your old boss. The older man sat unmoving, grey tufts of hair sticking out in unkempt directions, glasses askew on the bridge of his nose, and his clothes matted and torn. His arms and legs had been restrained to the chair, trapping him in place and rendering him still.

Were it not for his brown-hued irises fully opened, his mouth hanging agape and the ink pen that had been harshly driven into his forehead, dripping a mix of black and crimson red, he could have been sleeping.

It turned out that you were wrong about your second previous assumption, but that didn't stop a near deafening shriek to escape your throat at the sight.

Joey was dead. Had he been this whole time? Who could have done this to him? If Joey had been dead the entire time you were here, then who was the one that kept scaring you, the one activating the lights and projectors, the one who  _sent you the letter in the first place?!_

You had a horrible feeling that you could answer all of your questions, every single one of them pertaining to the man's beloved cartoons.

You fell to your knees. This had all been just some ruse for someone - or  _something_ , you were sure - to lure you here, to find Joey's body, to activate the machine  _for_ them. You'd played the part of the fool, falling for every scare tactic and choosing to stay even after, finding all of the parts required to power that stupid machine; you amazed yourself at how flawlessly you had played right into their awaiting hands.

And now you were trapped in the type of room that would only be reserved for the shadiest of cults, awaiting your inevitable...death? You wouldn't have been surprised in the slightest.

The dam in you finally burst, sending wave after wave of sobs heaving out of your chest. Your burning eyes overflowed once more with wet, pitiful tears, having nothing to help sate the flow. The room, deathly quiet before, was now filled with the soft sounds of your gasps and hiccups as you wept, along with that happy-go-lucky, out of place whistling still just barely audible through the musty air.

Your palms, resting on the dusty floor, suddenly detected a lukewarm, slightly sticky substance spreading around each of your fingers. You blinked back your tears just enough to investigate, only to catch another growing pool of black staining your hands even further as it spread outwards over the ritualistic floor faster than your disoriented mind could process. You frantically whipped your head around to find the source of the flow: the underside of the door you had just come in from.

You startled, scrambling up and backwards as you lunged for the door handle once more. As you paid no mind to the lack of a give it offered, fully prepared to use another panic-induced adrenaline rush to break the door down, something suddenly made you stop in your frantic efforts.

It was the whistling from earlier, and it had gotten louder. So much louder, almost as if it was right outside the door.

You tore your hand away from the handle as if it had burned you, instinctively backing away from your only exit. You could do nothing but watch as the blackness spread wider in its journey until it reached every corner of the room, and then, just as fast as before, began to rise. There was no other door to aid your escape, and your only blunt weapon you could use was stranded and out of your reach.

You were going to drown. There was no other alternative route to survival, but one: begging.

"N-no, no, no,  _please no!!"_  you cried, trembling where you stood as each of the pentagram candles snuffed out all at once from all around you. You threw your head back and screamed as loud as you could until your voice went raw, "S-somebody,  _anybody,_ please help!! I don't want to  _die...!!"_ your voice broke and collected into a sob at that last word as you pleaded for some otherworldly deity, Joey, that creature outside the door, anyone that could hear you to show you mercy, to save you from your end.

The ink level had just reached your kneecaps; you could feel the runny fluid soaking through every fiber of your clothes that it reached. That seemed to snap you out of your hysterical stupor, and without hesitation, you loudly smacked a hand across your face to bring you back to reality. Wiping the remainder of your tears away and smearing more stains of black across your face, you forced your stare to harden as you trained your eyes on the locked door in front of you. From behind it, the whistling never ceased in it's overly cheerful melody, causing your eyes to narrow even further.

That creature, whatever it was, sounded like it was taking _joy_ in hearing your cries and pleads of misery. It was having _fun_ with you!

Your anger returned full force, causing a growl to bubble up from your burning throat. You weren't going down like this, you decided as the ink level reached to just above your waistline. You weren't about to give this...this  _thing_ the satisfaction of watching you scare yourself to death before you could drown first. You'd succumb by staring death in the face with dignity, with a cold, searing glare, and with your head held high in defiance.

The ink level now reached your chest, causing you to be lifted off of the ground in an almost calm, floating manner. You only just turned to witness Joey's still form be covered with the tar-like substance. The sludge fell into his open mouth and dampened his grey hair until, all at once, he was swallowed whole by the blackened sea.

The pool raised you higher and higher, seemingly even faster than before, as you ascended towards the ceiling. You tread carefully, closing your eyes in an attempt to distract yourself from your impending doom...

You weren't nearly submerged in a dark, scary pool of ink, you were only in the swimming pool in your neighbor's backyard, treading softly as you relaxed without a care in the world. They emerged from their back door to wave at you, smiling sweetly as they walked over to a reclining chair. You waved right back, a content smile gracing your lips as well. They suddenly pulled out a beach ball from behind their chair and tossed it high in the air, aiming for you. Closer, closer and closer it fell until...

Your head bumped into the ceiling, all at once startling you out of your daydream. This was it. Only a few more precious seconds left before your air supply would be completely cut off. The ink level reached your chin. On instinct, you tilted your head backwards to gulp as much oxygen into your system as you could. The ink reached your ears, blocking any and all noise, including that awful whistling. You slammed your eyelids shut as the ink slid past them, too, rendering you blind.

You were completely submerged by the dark liquid, with nothing to accompany you but the sound of your rapidly beating heart pulsing in your ears. That feeling of terror grasped at your every sense, despite your outwardly calm attitude. _It would all be over soon_ , you told yourself as you felt your lungs start to burn from misuse, _just give it a few more seconds..._

Finally, after forty-five of those seconds had passed - impressing even yourself - your lungs finally gave in, sucking in as much of the black sludge as they could allow. You convulsed, despite yourself, at the feeling of the foreign substance clogging your nose, your lungs, your throat. Choking, gasping, and begging for relief, you only saw a brief flicker of light from what you swore was one of those ivory candles before you just...

...let go...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the end cometh near. I've decided to post a small epilogue after this, as I think it would really provide some more depth and explanation to the story.  
> With that out of the way...what did you all think of this? Were the canon divergences too annoying? If I'm going to be honest, that "big reveal" I promised in the tags kind of made me nervous. It seemed like I built up the suspense a little too much, only for it to resolve in Joey only having a few measly paragraphs of an introduction - and I didn't even leave him alive for that. To top it off, did I lay it on too thick with the whole scene in the ritual room, with the reader getting trapped and eventually killed? I'm pretty sure I could have used a little less detail there. I genuinely hope that it wasn't too disappointing for you all, if all that ends up being the case. :/  
> Final chapter will be up soon! :)


	6. Epilogue

You were too far out of it to notice that the ink level had started slowly receding, lowering you down from your perch. With every drop of ink washed away, it left behind no residue, no stains of black on any surface on the building it had touched previously. As the substance slowly drained out the underside of the door where it had come in, you were finally lowered to the ground, the only remaining residue of ink covering your limp, unmoving form in the center of the pentagram drawing.

That...in addition to a large puddle of inky black that rested just between you and the door. Just as before, the puddle seemed to stretch itself, taking on the creature-esque shape it had when it first revealed itself to you by the room with the machine. It raised a part of itself to act like an arm, smearing away a dripping curtain of ink out of the way of its face so its eyes could finally rest on you. Its grin seemed to widen.

Another glob of ink acted like the first, taking on an arm-like shape as they both reached out to your unconscious form, lifting you up from under your knees and your upper back. Pulling you back to it, the creature seemed to cradle you to its inky, not-quite-solid form. You didn't stir, your head falling lax against what could have been its chest. Its grip on you tightened the slightest bit as it lowered you down, seeming to melt right along with it until you were both completely submerged in the puddle.

It sluggishly moved itself out of the room under the crack in the door, following the small corridor until it moved immediately onto the wall in the next room, climbing higher and higher until it oozed up and over the side of the trap door by the exit. Almost leisurely, it made its way through the twists and turns of the studio, not even pausing when it finally came back to the ink machine room. Before the mechanical giant, it rested for a moment before it stretched upwards once again, taking your now visible form with it.

It stretched you even higher than before, clutching your limp body against it as it rose until its mock horns almost brushed against the ceiling. The machine was still running, despite no ink emerging from the nozzle at the front. The ink mass reached for the latch on the giant tank of ink, clicking it open before raising the lid. A small cloud of steam wafted from the inside; the content inside was a broiling hot soup of black, bubbling and churning, begging to be made into  _something._

The creature once more looked down at you, pausing for a beat as if it was deciding what to do with you next. Its black, void-filled eyes seemed to soften - and not just because they were made of ink - as it took in your face specifically. It only just barely recognized you, only sparing a few glimpses when it could when it looked back on the staff from the small windows on the doors to the ink machine room. The creator had told it to wait there and for it not to move, muttering something about "taking care of business". When its inky gaze rested on the staff members next through the glass, it was when they each went into his office one by one, sporting bright, nervous eyes when they entered and shifting to a painfully saddened look on their faces when they reemerged. It had payed attention to each poor soul, begging to know what was going on that could produce such sorrowful looks in mere minutes of being behind that closed door. Yours, for example, had the beginnings of tears starting to blink out of your (e/c) eyes, a painful frown tugging at your lips, and a hunched, almost defeated posture making your shoulders slump. Seeing your expression tugged at its inky black heart just as much as the others' expressions had.

When they were all gone, the creator seemed to be much more happy, now that he and the creature were the only two left in the studio. He spoke of great and amazing innovations to come, how creating a ritual to summon life to take place in the Bendy doll was all going to be worth it, how tossing the doll into the machine to make it just like his vision was the first step into a new era of animation. The same procedure was done for Boris as well, and it thought that things could not get any better. It was being united with its best pal once again and being directed toward a bright future with the creator by its side.

But then that beautiful time ended. The creator had been growing frantic in his movements, shifting from anger at how the new cartoon was not going like he had planned at all, to pain when the funds started to waste away, then back to anger as he muttered how he "never should have went through with this in the first place". Boris had disappeared one day, the creator waving it off as nothing but a sickness that needed to be cured. It had snuck into his room to be met with his best friend gutted open like a fish, inky organs in jars and sharp, dangerous-looking tools as his only company.

The creator begged for it to stop, calling for mercy as he pleaded his case. He was only going to make it and Boris better, make them perfect, make them new again. All the while, it never ceased its movements as it dragged him down the hall and into the dark depths under the studio above. The creator had used it and Boris for his own gain. The rest of them had only followed under his iron fist, like mindless sheep longing for comfort and security in their jobs. They were never like the creator, they were kind. They were just. They were accepting. And he had betrayed them, too. He had lied to everyone, and there was no way that he could atone for his sins. He existed to hurt, to deceive, to lie. He was an abomination to humankind, _and_ _nature knew best how to deal with abominations..._

The ink mass suddenly snapped back into focus, the ink from its body stilling from the quivering movement of its rage. Looking to you one final time, it came as a great surprise to it that your eyes were softly and slowly working their way open again. Your hazy (e/c) irises came to rest on its inky form for a brief moment, just barely taking in its distended toothy frown, its barely-formed horns and its black toonish eyes. You looked so small compared to it, so helpless, a lost little sheep looking for a shepherd. You didn't deserve the evil creator's fate. None of you did. You deserved so much more than what he had taken away from you.

Resolve hardened the creature's eyes as it took care in raising your body over the boiling ink pool. It didn't waste another precious second as it dropped you inside with a splash, before quickly closing the lid and locking the latch.

It glanced over to one of the dressers in a small alcove in the room, where a stack of faded yellow papers lay. It had taken the time to meticulously perfect Joey's handwriting, to search for each of their names and addresses; it would send out the next one tomorrow, and hopefully, the process that had began with you would begin again. Soon, everyone would be happy, they would all be together again, and they would all be free from the grip of that tyrant so they could start new, wonderful lives.

It turned back to the ink tank before walking around to the base of the machine, giving it a good hard bump for the cogwheels to start turning and the metal to start clanking. Its smile returned to its snowy white cheeks as it rested just off to the side, resuming its whistling of the little tune once more.

It was almost over. Your body wouldn't last long inside the churning mess, flesh and bone slowly melting away until you would be completely at one with the ink itself. It was almost over.

Its newest creation was almost complete.

~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Takes a bow as the final curtains close*  
> Whelp, there you have it! My first finished fic on this site is already under my belt, and it hasn't even been a full week yet. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!  
> Hopefully things had gotten cleared up by the end of the epilogue. You didn't think that I was actually going to let dear reader die for good, did you, you sillies? Haha! :D  
> Anyways, thanks for all of the support I received, it really does mean so much to me. With that, I hope you guys have wonderful cloudydayz (hehe); see y'all next time!! :)


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